


gentle

by Blake



Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BotFA, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Tension, and then they lived happily ever after!, pre-dragonsickness, self-depricating Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Completing this one great quest is his only chance at believing he is worthy of having something that he wants for himself.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705147
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	gentle

**Author's Note:**

> for "be gentle with me"

Bilbo hides it well enough, but he’s hurt his hand. Thorin may not have noticed if he had not witnessed Bilbo’s slight fall, while what’s left of the company climbed down the crevice between two boulders. He may not have witnessed Bilbo stumbling and catching his weight with one hand against rough stone if he could take his eyes off the hobbit at all for one moment, even with the promise of the doors of Erebor to look out for.

He pulls Bilbo to the side of what they are all hoping is a path. If Oin or even Bofur were here, they would likely have beaten him to checking the wound. But they are not here. Half his company has been left behind, because he can’t let anything stop him from reclaiming Erebor. Completing this one great quest is his only chance at believing he is worthy of having something that he wants for himself.

Beginning this quest has proven to him that it is possible to want something for himself.

“Let me see your hand,” he says, sounding too intent even to his own ears. He tries not to look into Bilbo’s eyes, for they are all too easy to lose precious minutes to. He focuses on pulling Bilbo’s too-long sleeve— _(once he’s completed this quest, he can dress Bilbo in whatever finery a hobbit desires_ )—past the delicate bones of his wrist— _(which he might some day feel worthy enough to ask to kiss)_ —to expose the soft, uncalloused flesh of his palm— _(the hand that has saved his own life so personally, as though his life has inherent value outside of prophecy, industry, lineage.)_

Bilbo hisses in pain as Thorin touches the edges of the scrape with clumsy, unpracticed fingers. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, busy searching for a door, or something?”

Thorin feels himself smiling at Bilbo’s words. He doesn’t sound so much disapproving of Thorin’s distraction as he sounds petulantly avoidant of the painful yet necessary attention. “What good is a door if my burglar’s hands are in pieces?” His face goes hot as he says the words, _my burglar_. Guiltily, he looks up and finds Bilbo’s dark eyes set on his face. He feels caught, utterly at the mercy of this halfling who might as easily cast him to the dirt as he might be wooed. But despite his fears, Thorin’s hope grows more each day. Thorin’s hope becomes Bilbo.

Bilbo’s eyes deflect to the ground. “I’d hardly call this pieces. Not nearly as bad as Kili’s wound, if that’s what you’re scheming. You’re not getting rid of me so easily as that.”

Thorin pulls the hem of his own shirt up to wipe the dirt away from the wound and tries to piece together Bilbo’s meaning. Could he really think that Thorin is trying to get rid of him? Could he really not realize that leaving Kili behind was necessary so that Thorin can accomplish something great enough for his people that he has any right to attempt earning Bilbo’s love for himself?

They’re so close to finding the secret door and reclaiming Erebor, Thorin can taste it on the cold, high air. Bold with the flavor, he wets his thumb on his tongue and smears it through the stubborn dirt in Bilbo’s wound, wiping it clean.

“Ah, ah, ah—Gentle!” Bilbo hisses, squirming under his touch.

Thorin softens his hold, cupping Bilbo’s wrist with loose palms, allowing him room to flee. But Bilbo’s hand remains between his, heavy with trust. Their eyes meet, and Thorin suddenly feels the thinness of the air in his chest, denied the whole of his senses and left with only the faith that another breath will come, that tomorrow will be entirely different, that he might one day share words with Bilbo without so much unspoken between them. “I would be,” Thorin whispers, not even sure himself if it’s an explanation of his current intent or a promise, a plea to be granted another circumstance to prove it.


End file.
